Broken Heart
by HistoryNut1997
Summary: Set in the year 1781. After his defeat at the battle of Yorktown, England falls into a depression. Can America save him or will he break England's heart? Onesided!USUK. M for future yaoi.


**Broken Heart**

**A/N: Hey, guys! I'm back with another story. (Please check out my other stories!) As usual, it's a fic centered on England and America. (Surprisingly, they are not my favorite characters. Lol.) Actually, it features France! Any way, it's been a long time since I've published a story, so here we go…**

**Disclaimer: I own Hetalia! *Guns pointing at her* Okay, okay! I don't own it! **

**There, now that that's done, on with the fic!**

Chapter One

England had lost, lost his control over the American colonies in an embarrassing defeat. (He had the strongest military in the _world_ for Christ's sake!) But all that didn't matter to him at the moment. What he cared about was that his little Alfred no longer wanted anything to do with him. England could feel his heart crack and break into a million little pieces.

He was still on his knees in the mud, in a daze. He felt numb all over, and in all honesty, he would rather have felt the pain of his loss than this feeling of nothingness. He deserved to be punished with the emotional agony because it was his entire fault. If only he had been there for America. If only he hadn't imposed all those taxes. If only he had been the big brother he was supposed to be. Maybe, America would still be his colony.

He wasn't sure when it happened, but he had fallen in love with the boy, but he had never told him that. No, he couldn't. Alfred looked up to him as a brother; there was no reason for him to feel the same way. It was destined to be unrequited love from the very beginning.

Arthur suddenly felt the pain that had been absent this whole time flare in his chest. Suddenly, despite his earlier words, he wished for the lack of feeling to return. He no longer wanted the pain; he couldn't stand it.

"Alfred!" he whispered harshly, "Come back, please!" This was when the sobs settled in. He gripped his chest, hacking and spluttering with the force of his sobs. Then, no longer able to hold himself upright, he collapsed face first into the mud, cries still breaking through his lips.

At some point, the sobs subsided and the numbness had once again taken a hold of his body. Darkness engulfed him

* * *

America felt guilty. He felt guilty for leaving England on his knees. He felt guilty for hurting his older brother. He felt guilty for the manner in which he had attained independence.

But he did not feel guilty for achieving his status as a nation (well, he wasn't technically a nation yet, but he was as good as one.) He had defeated the supposed toughest military in the world. Yes, he had had help from Francis and Gilbert even, but he was mainly on his own.

Something in him told him to go back to England, to see if he was still out in the rain, but his pride would not permit him to do so. So, he asked France to go. After some bribing (a night in which France could have his way with Alfred's body), the Frenchman agreed to go.

He just hoped Arthur would be okay.

* * *

France walked through the muddy battlefield through the rain. He sighed; he was getting his beautiful uniform wet and dirty!

'_Amerique_ better give me a night to remember,' he thought, 'If I was smart, I would have made it two nights.'

He stopped. He saw the red uniform that one could spot from a mile away. ('Seriously,' he thought, 'what idiot wears a bright red uniform?') To his horror, he noticed that the man was sprawled face first in the mire.

He walked up to the Englishman and asked hesitantly, "_Angleterre_?"

He received no answer, so he bent down and turned Arthur over onto his back. The man was unconscious, white as a ghost, and covered in muck.

"_Angleterre!_" he exclaimed, dismayed. He and England may fight and bicker all the time and the Englishman had taken his Mathieu from him, but he did care for the other man's well-being. (He would be losing his squabbling partner after all.)

He picked up the smaller man, who was just as light as he appeared. He began to carry him to his tent and Arthur started to stir and groan in his arms. Emerald eyes opened and met azure ones.

"_Alfred!_" the British man whispered hoarsely, shock in his voice.

"_Non, Angleterre,_" Francis responded, "It's Francis,"

"Fran…cis?"

"_Oui._" France was surprised that England wasn't calling him a 'bloody frog'. The Englishman must have been in heavy shock.

Arthur didn't respond at first, but then his eyes went wide. He suddenly vomited all over himself and the Frenchman.

"_Angleterre!_" Francis cried out, "My uniform!"

The British man's only response was to promptly pass out again.

France brought the man to his tent and laid him on the bed, not caring that the sheets would be soiled. He went and got both of them a change of clothes.

* * *

Alfred waited anxiously for news on Arthur. He almost cried with relief when he saw both Francis and the Englishman, but the relief dissipated when he saw the condition that the green eyed man was in.

He saw the Frenchman carry England into the tent and decided to give it some time before he went to see his older brother. He didn't want to see England like that. Pale and sickly looking. No, he would wait.

* * *

Warm. That was the first thing that Arthur felt when he began to come to. Warm and dry. He opened his eyes and was met with the soft light of a candle. He looked about the room he was in and noted that he was in a tent. The next thing he noted was that the frog was in the tent. Then he was able to put it together. He was in the frogs tent!

"You bloody frog!" he attempted to yell, but his voice was too croaky. A cough made its way up from his chest through his lips. The cough set off a fit of coughing that had him hunched over, clutching his chest, and grimacing in pain.

"Easy there, _Angleterre,_" the Frenchman said calmly, "I think the rain has made you ill."

England just glared at him and then laughed bitterly, which set off another bout of coughing. When he could breathe again, he said "I deserve to be sick. I think you would agree, wouldn't you? After all, I took Canada from you. Why the bloody hell are you even taking care of me, frog?"

France said simply, "As a favor for a friend."

TBC

**England: Why the bloody hell do I always have to suffer in your stories?**

**America: So the hero can save you, of course!**

**England: Shut up, you bloody wanker!**

**Me: Guys, calm down! And England, I always have you suffer because I feel like it.**

**England: That's not a reason!**

**Me: It is in my world, Iggy, it is in my world.**

**England: Oh, you're just as bad as America!**

**Me and America: Hey!**

**Well, anyway, please review! I'm not going to update unless I get at least five reviews!**


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